Desolate
by albinogingersnap
Summary: "Now, here he was; alone once more like how it all had begun." Aftermath of The Parish campaign.
1. Prologue

**Here I bring you a story from my L4D2 fandom. I'm actually not quite sure what I plan on doing with it, but I guess I'll find out as I find muse for it.**

**Enjoy!**

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Darkness enveloped him; pure, unfiltered darkness suffocating, holding him down as if he were being drowned. He was still breathing, even though every time he took a breath his nostrils would fill with the grotesque stench of blood, sickness, and death. Every breath didn't seem worth living for now. He didn't want to open his eyes yet. He tried moving a hand, wriggling his cramped fingers and then the other. Now his toes; okay, he still could wiggle them too. That was good. Finally, he cracked his eyes open.

Smoke twirled and plumed about him, it occurred to him some of what he had smelled was burnt bodies and fires. Not the best thing to wake up to. He laid there for a few moments, trying to recollect, staring up at the ashen skies. Where had the blue gone? He wasn't sure. His elbows bent as he pushed his upper half up and he let out a grunt of discomfort as his body let his brain know that it was sore; very, very sore. His gaze moved down his torn shirt. Man, he really liked that one.

Then he looked down at his pants. His breath caught and his pain receptors went crazy. Past his the knee of his torn pants was his… femur? He didn't care what bone it was. It was _sticking out of his leg _with muscle and tendon and blood surrounding it. There was only so much he could take from looking at the torn up flesh and the bone… Oh God, that red stuff. He keened over to the side and expelled his stomach onto the rubble and upturned earth next to him. He had never been a real squeamish fellow when it came to gore, but every time he glanced at his broken leg it made his head spin and his tummy churn.

"Oh man, oh man, oh man…" He muttered the mantra over and over, pinching his eyes shut and shaking his head as he willed away the sight before him. He opened them again. Everything was the same. He observed the site surrounding him more closely. There was pieces of… well, a helicopter everywhere some of the parts flaming. He was close to the bank of a river. In the distance, above the horizon line was the remnants of a bridge. Little, glowing fires dotting distance land mass and the bridge itself, revealing that the whole scene had been a fiery destruction zone.

Around him were a few fallen victims; dismembered, bloodied, and lifeless. Oh yeah. Then the whole zombie apocalypse thing came crashing down to him; meeting Coach, Rochelle, and Nick after being alone for so long, fighting through a zombie-infested mall, amusement park, swamp, bridge… The feeling of relief as they all stepped foot on the copter, yelling to the pilot that they had made it! They finally made it! Then the sinking feeling as alarms in the helicopter sounded and a weight spun them out of control as zombies jumped onboard, and then coming face to face with an infected pilot for the second time and doing the murdering of said individual himself.

The sound of the bridge exploding, crumbling as he tried to steer the helicopter to safety rang in his fresh memories. He recalled his comrades calling for him and then their screams as the copter made a swift dive for the ground. The feeling of his body rushing out of the cockpit and then his leg snapping as he slid through the dirt, and then unconsciousness. Now, here he was; alone once more like how it all had begun. Except this time he knew the names of the other three who had fought with them. Suddenly frantic, but unable to move, he glanced around. He sought out even the slightest existence of his companions.

Nothing, no one, just helicopter remains and smoke and fire everywhere. The dead bodies he could see didn't look familiar, until he spotted a dark-skinned arm protruding out from underneath some banged up metal sheet. Those thin digits with previously manicured nails now dirty with grime and soot… and then what brought reality stabbing into his heart was the golden hoop bracelets still clinging to the wrist. "Rochelle!" He cried out hoarsely and then coughed; his lungs and vocal cords straining from inhaling so much smoke. He immediately, without thinking, tried to stand and then his weight gave out as a tremor of great pain shot straight up his leg.

Now he crawled, pretty sure something else was broken, pushing aside metal fragments and bits of electrical wiring, ash, dirt. His leg was throbbing profusely now that the pain was so mind-numbing he ignored it. "Ro-Rochelle!" He stuttered out, panic overtaking him as he clawed his way to her arm, the only thing he could see of her, but as he got closer he could see it was connected to her shoulder. He prayed that it wasn't just dismembered from the rest of her. Finally his fingers grabbed the hand and his heart skipped. Cold, stiffness met his touch. How long had his unconsciousness reigned over him?

He let out a sob of disbelief, sitting up slightly to angrily toss the metal sheet hiding the rest of her. Ah, he found her. Her neck was craned to the side and up, her mouth open and her eyes gazing sightlessly at nothing. Her clothes were tattered and dirty and bloody. The arm he had saw was dislocated and from what he could see of the other side of her face it was mutilated. His lower lip trembled. She had been so proud, so kind. She seemed almost indestructible at times. What the hell happened? How could she die? No, she couldn't be dead. She couldn't. See? She was still alive, he saw her twitch. No, he didn't. He was making it up. "Ro'?" He questioned softly, his voice cracking and the realization hit him. Rochelle was _gone_. After all the killing he'd done to every zombie, they'd once been people too and he'd seen them dead.

This was different. He knew her. They had spent months together protecting each other, fighting back to back; just as he had done with Coach and Nick. They were a team, and they couldn't be a team now with Rochelle… dead, could they? He clung to her hand fiercely, rocking slightly. "Come back, come back, Ro'… come back now, ya hear? Please? Don' go leavin' us…" Tears began to roll down his cheeks and he clenched his teeth together, holding his sobs back. He couldn't cry yet. It wasn't safe; he had to get somewhere safe. He unsteadily cupped his hand over her eyes when he was done shedding his tears, closing them and then gently shutting her mouth to make her look more peaceful. Finding a defibrillator would be a blessing that would go unused by now.

He then leaned back and scooted a few feet away. He had to find the other two. He had to. They couldn't be dead. He needed them, and they needed him. And if they were alive, their condition would be no better than him. His tear-stained face scanned the area in a daze and his eyes recognized his hat. He reached his arm out and plucked it from the rubble, dusting it off with his other hand. He scowled at some blood stains and then smoothed his hair back and slipped his hat on. Ellis sighed shakily, feeling a lump form in his throat again, the feeling of loneliness rendering him immobile.

He pulled his good leg close and hugged his arms around it, shoving his nose into his knee and beginning to cry again; _alone_.

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**A/N: I hope you can get the sense of alone, and hopelessness from poor little Ellis here. It may get better for him, it may get worse. Stay tuned to find out! **

**Reviews and such are always greatly welcomed.**


	2. Godless

**Updating time. I finally finished tonight's homework and then decided I should work on this. So here it is! Hurrah!**

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Everything had happened much too fast for him to actually, clearly recall. He remembered getting on the helicopter, squeezing the trigger of his assault rifle and fending off a mob of zombies from boarding with them. Just as they had left the ground the copter swayed precariously. He had looked out of the cabin door and then blown the heads off some infected that had decided to hitch a ride on the skids, but there were still some climbing into the helicopter with them. He'd hit them with the end of his gun, a spray of bullets all around him. He could feel Coach's body next to him, his angry cries registering with his brain and then Rochelle was there too, reloading magazines into her pistols hurriedly. The last he saw of Ellis was just a glance of him shaking the pilot and then another of the said individual rearing its nasty head back. The pilot was no more.

Then they were spiraling out of control, the helicopter diving nose first to the ground. They had to jump there was no choice. He yelled for everyone to be ready to go, ready to leap from the copter at impact. Where was Ellis, was he still in the cockpit? He hadn't known, he just yelled as loud as he could when the helicopter crashed to the ground and he pushed out from the open cabin door. He had skid through the dirt, feeling sharp pains in places where he couldn't think of at the time. Thinking was hard when you were rolling across the ground. He stopped moving, stunned and then he'd heard the sounds of the copter exploding. He'd winced at the loud noise, his ears ringing just as they did when the bridge had been blown up.

Now, where were the others? He had been lying there for a while, being too dazed to do anything more. The metallic, salty taste of blood coated his mouth and he spat. A little spittle of saliva and red came shot from his lips and amongst the goop he swore he saw his own tooth. Groaning, he slowly flipped onto his back, a throbbing pain in his chest. He lifted one arm; his right. Good, no injuries and then the left. He let out a hiss as the said limb sent a jolt of pain up his bicep. He stared at the injured arm, scowling at the torn fabric of his sleeve and how his elbow stuck out unnaturally. He guessed it was dislocated. He tried sitting up, letting out a frustrated sob when his ribs sparked to life; more pain. He brought his right hand over and undid the buttons of his blue dress shirt, pushing it aside to reveal his bare skin.

A large bruise was beginning to form over the lower part of his ribs and he sighed in exasperation. He wasn't expecting so much damage to come of his plan. Of course, it was better than exploding with the helicopter. His eyes wandered the area, trying to scout through the wreckage and unfamiliar bodies. Then, a few feet away he saw the tattered purple shirt and then the back of Coach's head, but it was busted; a huge gash on the back of his skull with blood smeared over dark skin. He debated on whether to call out for him. What if there was no answer? Worst case scenario: the large man was dead and there was no bringing him back. Okay and best case scenario: Coach was alive and just had a chunk taken from his head. Fantastic.

He buttoned up his shirt back in order and then slipped out of his white jacket; the thing was beyond repair now. He took a deep breath, staring at the motionless form anxiously. Then, "Coach!" he shouted, and waited for any form of response. For some painstakingly long seconds nothing happened and then the body shifted a bit and he felt his stomach do a flip of relief. At least someone had made it. He grunted in discomfort as he thought of how to stand, not wanting to find any more fractures in his body by doing so. But, as he carefully lifted himself to his feet and tested the weight on each foot he found that nothing bad had happened to his lower half. "Hang in there, Coach, I'm-" his voice gave in to a growl as his ribs throbbed in protest, "I'm coming." With his good arm he tightly put pressure on his injured ribs and then stumbled over to where Coach lay.

"Hey," he pressed, kneeling and prodding the bigger male's shoulder, "can you hear me?" He got a response in a mumble that wasn't even words, but it was better than nothing. Nick tore his good sleeve off, preparing to wrap it around Coach's injured cranium. "You need to sit up, can you do that for me?" He asked and this time his voice came as a murmur, softer than the last. "Stay with me, big guy." Nick grabbed the other's dark arm and heaved. At that moment Coach seemed to stir and he didn't leave himself completely deadweight for Nick to lift. With him finally upright, he could see that Coach had been passed out; the tired look in his dark eyes showed that and then the way he squinted into the light… The former football player had a few cuts and bruises on his face, and then other than the gash on the back of his head he looked okay. His eyelids began to flutter close. Nick smacked his face gently. "Hey… hey! Stay awake."

Coach grumbled grumpily, pulling his full lips back and revealing gritted teeth as he made a motion to grip the back of his head. "Don't, you've got a big cut back there." Nick warned. "I taught Health, Nick, I know what I'm doin'." Nick said nothing more, only frowned and then held out his sleeve. Coach nodded and then the blue fabric was wound tightly around his skull and tied on the side. "Helicopter crash got more beatin' on me than the damn zombies." Coach complained, shaking his head. The younger man decided to leave him there for a few moments, telling him he needed to look for the others. Coach came along anyway.

It wasn't long before they found a hunched over Ellis. "Jesus Christ, your leg…" Nick trailed off, staring with his jaw slack at the gross-looking bone poking just short of the boy's knee. He swallowed thickly and dropped to his knees. "Ellis?" He questioned and the other's head lifted to reveal puffy, red eyes and a blank expression. "Don't worry, we can fix this… we can… Shit, just, have you seen Rochelle?" Nick was overwhelmed; his dislocated elbow and injured ribs were enough, but now Ellis' leg was totaled? Ellis flinched slightly and tried to hug his good leg closer to himself. He croaked out something unintelligible. "Speak up now, boy." Coach urged him gently, putting a large hand on Ellis' shoulder to comfort him.

A nervous weight settled in the pit of Nick's stomach; something bordering dread, but not quite there. He felt like he knew exactly what had happened to Rochelle. "She's dead." Ellis hissed through clenched teeth, hiccupping on a sob as if saying the words were enough to crumble him to pieces. Coach's eyes widened and he clenched his jaw, unable to say anything. Nick's heart pounded within his chest cavity and it was that moment that his gaze strayed from Ellis and then to a familiar body; a dead, gnarled, familiar body. He felt what little food held in his stomach churn sickly and he let out a low grunt.

"Ro'. I can't believe it, girl. You done and left us for good." Coach was wiping his eyes with his pudgy fingers, and Ellis was completely still; although, on closer inspection Nick found that the youngest was shaking near the verge of violently. Nick closed his eyes, wanting all of this to disappear so that the four could safely be making their way home or whatever home was to become after being rescued. He opened them and he felt sicker than he had felt seconds ago. He felt dizzy, he felt lost, and he felt so alone even though the other two were right next to him. "Listen, guys," he swallowed a lump of bile in his throat and trudged on, "we should go." Coach stared and blinked at him, Nick catching a faint, distant nod of agreement.

Ellis mewled a soft, "no", and rocked a little in Coach's grip. "No, no, no…" His teeth chattered slightly. "We can't leave! We can't jus' leave her here! I won' do it! I won'!" His voice came out rough and crackled, and he began to cry. Nick felt his own heart jerk at the sight. "We have to. We gotta go. We can't stay." Ellis let out something that would have been a snarl. "Shut up, Nick! Ya never cared fer any of us anyway!" Tears still streamed down his rosy cheeks and he sobbed some. Nick recoiled, feeling very stung. He hadn't been the most team-oriented individual, but he still protected the others, and healed them, and sometimes attempted to make conversation even. He scooted closer.

"Get away from me!" Ellis cried, flinging his arm out and pushing away both he and Coach. Nick grabbed his slung out arm and gritted his teeth. "Look, Ellis, you're in as much shit as the rest of us. This is no time to be pointing your fucking fingers." His temper got the better of him, but it seemed as though Ellis realized what he was saying. The hick's anger dissipated and he let his arm go limp. "M'sorry. I-I jus' wish…" Then he started bawling. Nick sighed and took his good arm and wrapped it around Ellis' neck. Ellis froze, his crying subsided, and the other tightened his grip. "It'll be okay." Nick whispered and then Ellis began to cry again; he couldn't remember how much the kid had cried, but he didn't like it. In the distance jet planes roared overhead and Nick closed his eyes once more, trying to escape the tragedy that had befallen them. Coach grabbed both their hands and began to pray.

It was good to have faith, but frankly, after all that had happened, Nick didn't believe in shit. Not God, not faith, not anything. It was hopeless. All of their trials; hopeless, desolate, _nothing_. The look of Ellis' scrunched up face and the tears squeezing from his pinched eyelids, and his parted mouth occasionally muttering the same thing, "amen, amen, amen". Nick felt a sliver trail of wetness fall down his face and he didn't bother wiping it away out of some forsaken pride he once had upheld, letting it fall on his pant leg. Everything was gone and surviving seemed out of the question. Ellis' hand was clammy and shaking on his, but firm. Coach's hand held on tight with assurance. Where was this God now?

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**A/N: I did not like this as much as I enjoyed the prologue. I ended it in a redundant quickie-ness. But oh well, maybe it'll get better in the second chapter. I hope. `^^ School may suck me of all my muse. I've already had to write two essays for Debate. x_x**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and please review!**


	3. Safe, For Now

**I bring to you the next installment of Desolate and a new style of writing. Finally, in the tenth grade someone tells me how to structure dialogue. It's about damn friggin' time too! Now my dialogue is no longer a clusterfuck of a paragraph but in fact several paragraphs with speaker acknowledgements.**

**I hope you enjoy it!**

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It seemed like hours that they had sat there hand-in-hand, praying as hard as they could. Well, at least he had been, and he knew Coach had been. Nick… Had Nick prayed? Had he asked God to save them? Maybe he'd given up his faith long ago, maybe even before the apocalypse. Of course, Ellis thought it too rude to just assume that. It had been hard, keeping his beliefs, but he managed the big guy upstairs would eventually do something, or maybe this was just punishment for mankind. Hell, he didn't blame God for doing that. He had always gone to church with his ma and father when he was bite-sized, you know, being the good, church-loving family they were. What would his family do now? Would God still be important to them? Even better, would they still be alive? He didn't know. At this moment, he didn't want or need to know.

Before they left the crash scene, Nick and Coach and gone scavenging and found a long, dull metal strip. They had carefully straightened his leg and then lay the metal piece parallel to it, right against it. Ellis had frowned when they told him to take off his 'Bullshifters' t-shirt and then they'd ripped it into strips. The thing had been a club he and his high school buddies had made, but at least it was being put to good use. It was his femur that had snapped out of his skin. Lord, it was painful; it _looked _painful too. Coach explained he had a little training in Health, told him he had taught it. Ellis nodded, knowing all too well what he had in mind. The large man had examined the open wound carefully and then took a deep breath. Nick was standing, turned away, his palm covering his eyes. He looked sick.

"Now, you be tough, Ellis." Coach said as if he were talking to him about fifteen years back, when he was a child. He had spread the strips of Ellis' shirt underneath his leg and the metal piece so they'd be easier to tie. "Nick, I need ya here." Coach said. His hand hovered over the protruding bone as the conman kneeled beside him. He gave Ellis a spare piece of the shirt. "Clench that in yo' teeth. You ready?" Coach asked, his brows furrowed with sympathy.

The mechanic took the cloth in his mouth and ground his teeth into it. He nodded once and quick. Coach shook his head slightly and then pushed his palm down hard and bone snapped back into his leg. Ellis scream was muffled and tears sprung in his eyes. He puffed short, pained breaths from his nose, pinching his eyelids shut.

He felt another set of hands tying the scraps of his shirt to his leg. He sobbed behind the cloth in his mouth when Nick tightened the one where the fracture was. Once the last strips were tied, he spat out his makeshift gag and panted. Tears stained his cheeks and he was flushed with pain. His mind felt completely blank, numbed, blown away by how agonizing the ordeal had felt. He watched, trying to catch his breath, as Coach looked over Nick's oddly-shaped elbow, but Nick brushed him off and told him he would need an arm sling; something they weren't going to find in the rubble. They let Ellis recuperate for what he guessed would have been half an hour and then Coach hoisted him up by his armpits carefully.

The man took all his weight as they stood side by side. His broken leg angled out from his body slightly, being kept straight by the pseudo splint. There was a long silence between the three and Ellis could hear the crackle of a small fire nearby. Where were they going to go now? They were stranded. His eyes drifted back to the collapsed bridge, trying to find the start of it; the place where they had healed up, gotten big guns, some side weapons, some first-aid and then answered the radio. The military had lowered the bridge, and they had made it across! Now what? What the hell were they going to do?

"We need to get to a safe house or something…" Nick trailed off, his face scrunched up in thought. Ellis swallowed thickly and looked at the distant buildings before them, past the brush that lay right in front of them.

"We need to go west." Ellis said suddenly. Coach and Nick looked at him strangely. "Ya'll remember that map at that evac center back in Savannah? Next state over's Texas. Maybe we could keep goin' west and find somethin'." He explained, a small ounce of pride wriggling in his chest at remembering such a key piece of information.

There was a pause. If it was any other time, Coach would have been uncertain. If it was any other time, Rochelle would still be here giving him the benefit of the doubt. If it was any other time, Nick would call him a dumbass for even saying it, but this was this time.

"Let's find some place to stay the night first before we get too ahead of ourselves." The conman said after staring at Ellis for a full minute.

So, they began to move. Through some brush just past the bank and then back into New Orleans. There wasn't very many infected around, and the ones that still lingered around were shot straight through the skull by Coach who had managed to salvage a pistol. It must have been hours until they ended up back in the streets, having past the residential areas. Ellis felt his belly growl with hunger about three hours into their slow trek. Damn, how long _had_ it been since any of them had eaten? He wanted to say something, but Coach and Nick seemed too intent on reaching a safe haven. Maybe that was for the best. He could eat later.

It wasn't too long after his hunger pains that they finally came across a small drug/convenient store that had been turned into a safe house, even with the trademark red door. The metal door was slightly ajar and Coach shouldered me over to lean on Nick for a moment while he slowly crept in. He stayed in there for what seemed to be a good five minutes before he poked his head back out and gave the O.K.. Nick guided Ellis through the door and then Coach shut and barred it behind them.

A wave of nostalgia hit him. A time where they had spent in a safe room quite similar to this washed into his mind. The four them had sat at a table playing a simple card game and eating junk food, drinking soda and beer. Amongst all the flesh-eating monsters beyond the door; they had found some peace at mind during those couple of hours, playing cards.

The nice memory faded as he heard Nick speak. "A lot's been cleaned out, but at least there's still some of it left."

Ellis frowned, where were they going to sleep? He saw Coach rummaging through pill bottles, tucking some in the crook of his elbow and putting others back on the shelf. Nick was going through what was left of the chips and stuff like that. Once again, his stomach reminded him of his hunger. He awkwardly hopped/shuffled over to where Nick was, and the conman bristled with alarm.

"You shouldn't be-" he was interrupted when Ellis leaned heavily against him, "you shouldn't walk around without help." He gave Ellis a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and then together they walked over behind a little pharmacist's desk to find a comfy-looking rolling chair. Nick gently helped Ellis sit in it.

The hick let out a pained sound and then a sigh, slouching in the chair. He opened his chips and dove his hand in, shoveling out a handful and scarfing them down. As he crunched diligently on his food, he watched Nick sift through cabinets, bust a lock, search through that cabinet and then pull out a pump shotgun.

"Gotta love the South." He mumbled under his breath.

"I thought you didn' like the South." Ellis said through a mouthful of chips. Nick's green eyes drew away from the gun and stayed on Ellis for a few seconds and he tried to smile, but it didn't really happen.

"I guess hillbilly country isn't so bad; minus the damn zombies." He frowned and then walked out of the little office with the gun tucked under his good arm, Ellis presumed to tell Coach about his find.

Evening came upon them quickly. As they prepared for sleep Ellis shivered, but not from the cold; he had been shirtless this whole time. He looked down at his bare torso and shucked some chips crumbs off with the back of his hand. Thankfully, Coach had managed to find a sling for Nick. Ellis hadn't watched, pretending to still be licking the chip remnants from his fingers, but the blood-curdling noise of Nick's bone shoving back into its joint was enough to send a chill up his spine. Nick was a trooper though, making a slight grunt of pain and then letting Coach carefully construct the sling. Although, Ellis did notice the slightly shininess of his eyes, just on the edge of letting tears escape. He supposed that the conman was the type that had been taught to 'suck it up'.

Some awkward good nights were exchanged. Coach took watch at the safe room's door, being the least injured, and this left Nick and Ellis to sleep for a while; something that seemed to be evading the two. Ellis rubbed his stomach idly while the other sat against the wall with his chin tilted to the ceiling. Ellis dared a glance, his eyes barely making out the colors of Nick in the darkness of the pharmacists' office; his skin tone, the now dull blue shirt, and then just a peek of the whites of the others eyes. He wished there was some light source in the room, but there was no way they wanted to draw attention to themselves; not after what had happened.

"Do we got any candles?" He couldn't help but whisper because it was so damn quiet.

"We don't need light." Nick retorted in a low voice.

Ellis curled the toes attached to his good leg randomly, squinting to try and watch them. "I just wanna be able to see." Ellis pouted, and he heard Nick scoff.

"What do you need to _see_ so badly?" There was some original Nick coming back in his words and the Southern boy was glad of that.

But uh-oh, time to spit it out. He wasn't really afraid of the dark, not until the dead had reanimated and threatened the race of humanity –being the only things above humans in the whole damned food chain. With dark nights that the original four had spent trying to navigate their way to safe rooms he had gotten his fill of turning and shining his flashlight on a nasty set of bloody teeth and glowing eyes and grotesque looking bodies that still moved.

Ellis inhaled and exhaled.

"I wanna make sure I can see you. Make sure ya don't go nowhere… I don' wanna hear you screamin' before I can even warn you somethin's comin' up behind you." He said hurriedly, averting his gaze to the wall or counter or shelf or door; anywhere but Nick. The other seemed to be digesting what he had said.

"Okay…" He would have bet Nick was staring at him confusedly, and from what he could make of the man's face; he was. He heard Nick get up and hover next to him. "Give me your arm." He ordered.

Ellis obeyed, slinging the said appendage over Nick's shoulders and then having the older male gently guide him back to the wall where Nick helped him carefully sit against it with his broken leg splint sticking straight out. He felt Nick's skin against his, their bare arms touching.

"Now you know I'm here. It's better on your leg anyway." Nick said.

Ellis nodded even though he knew Nick didn't see it. He wondered if Nick understood his want to stay close. After losing Rochelle all he wanted was for them to stay together no matter what. He assumed the conman did. He genuinely believed Nick knew that he didn't want to be separated. He wished Coach would come back. It didn't matter that they were all guys, or that a month or so back they had been complete strangers coming together, or whatever rules and morals put up to keep others away had been established mutually. None of that mattered when Rochelle was dead, and rescue seemed futile, and all they had was each other. Ellis felt his throat tighten and he choked faintly on a sob.

Nick stiffened against him slightly and it only made him want to cry more. Why didn't Nick ever want to comfort anyone? What was so hard about letting someone cry on your shoulder? Did Nick ever feel for anyone? He never seemed to care about anyone but himself unless absolutely necessary.

"Ellis?" Nick questioned almost tentatively.

Ellis gritted his teeth together and puffed a breath of air out from his nostrils and his eyes became watery. "What?" The answer came out pitifully, almost giving away another sob/hiccup. There were a few seconds where Ellis only heard the man's breathing and then a silent pause.

"It's okay."

Ellis felt his chest give a leap and he gave out a blubber of unintelligible relief. He let his cheek fall onto Nick's shoulder and tears fell from his eyes and onto Nick's shirt. A sudden exhaustion claimed him and his crying began to weaken and then he finally let sleep take him under despite his fear of waking up to no one.

He woke in a cold sweat, his eyes wide with alarm. His heart was beating fast, and he felt sick to his stomach. His palms were clammy and cramped for some reason like he had been clenching his hands into fists for a long time. Maybe he had been. Then it all came back to him. The bridge, the helicopter crash, his broken leg, dead Rochelle… He felt an unavoidable headache come on and he rested his forehead against his palm. His skin was tepid and nice against his warm forehead. Everything hurt. Nick wasn't there anymore; the spot where Ellis had been leaned against him was vacant as he stared down at the cold linoleum floor. Some faint panic entered him. He had heard no screams, no cries of anguish, no gnashing teeth. But where was everyone? It was so damn _quiet_. He felt exhausted still and he was so sore and so sick and so fucking tired…

The door to the pharmacist's office cracked and Coach filled his sight.

The large man cracked a broken smile and said, "Gonna give ya some real bandages." He held up a packet of gauze.

Ellis coughed. "Man," he said, "we don't got nothin' else but this scrap metal for a splint?"

"'Fraid not, boy. It'll work just fine though." Coach assured, crouching beside the hick and unraveling the roll of bandages.

"But it pinches the hell outta my leg." Ellis pouted as he watched Coach untie the t-shirt scraps.

Coach seemed to ignore him momentarily. "We'll need Nick's help gettin' your overalls off." He stated and then got up and left the room.

Ellis sat by himself for a few moments, staring at the tear in the pant of his overalls where the bone had stuck out. He really didn't want to see what was under there. He _really _didn't. The mechanic's head turned to the sound of the door opening. Nick was first to enter. He looked tired with those dark circles beneath his eyes and the way his mouth scowled and the crease of his forehead. Ellis hoped he didn't have a headache; he figured the conman was the type to get those a lot.

"Alright, I'll help 'im up and you get those overalls off." Coach said to Nick, who handed the larger man a washcloth of some sort. "You ready, Ellis?"

Ellis felt Coach's hands curl beneath his underarms. "Yeah, yeah." He said and with that Coach heaved upward. Ellis tried to let him take all the weight, the tiniest spark of pain shooting up his thigh, and he grunted as he leaned onto his good leg.

Nick untied the knot keeping his overalls at his waist and began to shimmy them down his thighs, as much as he could with one hand to work with, and then past his knees. He hesitated at his calf, glancing up at Ellis as if he were asking permission to continue. Confusedly, Ellis nodded once, wondering why the man would even need prompting. Nick carefully rolled the pants of the overalls over the last stretch of his legs. Ellis clenched his teeth together as the fabric rubbed over his wound. Then, Nick untied the laces of his boots and shucked them off his feet, and then he finally pulled the overalls past his ankles.

The two men cautiously sat Ellis back against the wall and the mechanic shivered as the cool floor came in contact with his bare skin, cold seeping through his underwear even and making him shiver briefly. His eyes dared to glance at the gaping flesh wound. It was gross-looking. He could hardly tell what it was; dried gnarled flesh and blood, he guessed. He had no idea. Coach knelt and began to wipe away dirt and dried blood from the site where the bone had shot through the top of his calf. Ellis turned away; it was just nasty to watch. Coach got it cleaned up the best he could and then he began to dress it.

By the time he was finished wrapping it up, Ellis thought it didn't look so bad. The bandages were nice and clean and cushioned his torn and bruised flesh more so then t-shirt scraps and strip of metal. Nick suggested his overalls be put back on, but Ellis wanted to just rest for a bit. Coach had to go out of the room and wash his hands. Ellis finally noticed Nick's dress shirt's sleeves were both torn off and somewhere in him it made him want to laugh and then it made him want to cry; Nick had really liked his suit. His pants were a really dirty white now with dust and blood and puke spatters all over them. He wanted to ask where his jacket went, but he was afraid it would hurt Nick's feelings so he didn't.

Ellis was cold without a shirt or pants on, he'd admit that, but he didn't feel like moving. Nick said he had to go get something and left. He only had to wait a few minutes before he returned with a shirt draped over his arm. He let it fall into Ellis' lap for him to take and hold it out in both his hands to examine it. It was a gray wife beater; plain and simple. But it was so clean, so soft. He shoved the shirt into his nose and inhaled. It even smelled clean.

"Thank ya, Nick." Ellis said, smiling faintly and then slipping the wife beater over his torso.

"Don't mention it." He replied.

Ellis thought he saw him smile back a little bit, but he didn't pursue the idea long. Nick sidled over to him and knelt, hooking his good arm beneath the mechanics underarm and hoisting him up. It was more painful this time; what with Nick only having one arm to work with. He watched Nick take the overalls in hand and awkwardly help Ellis get them on. Finally, Ellis tied the straps in a not at his waist and it was finished. His bloody, dirty, gross overalls… He frowned, but did not complain. He was lucky enough that Nick didn't save the shirt for himself.

Coach returned to them at that moment; there were new bandages around his head. Although, Ellis never recalled there being bandages there to begin with. "Gonn' need that splint."

Ellis huffed. "Ah hell, I ain't puttin' it back on, I'll be fine." He stared accusingly at the uncomfortable piece of metal.

"I'm tellin' ya, you're gonna regret it. Hell if you'll be slowin' us down neither." Coach replied a little teasingly.

In a good-natured sense, Ellis managed to smirk back at him in acknowledgement. But in the recesses of his mind he was filing through situations if he were to slow them down. The 'what ifs', the horrific scenarios; all those gruesome and terrible images wracked his brain and then consequently his head began to ache. He felt his lips furrow into a noticeable frown. Nick was frowning too, he saw, and the conman looked at Ellis. He looked as though he wanted to say something. Maybe some words of comfort? But Nick said nothing and just stood there, biting the inside of his cheek.

Coach seemed more serious when Ellis pushed the bad thoughts into a deep part of his mind. "I… I hate to be the one to say it, but I think we should get movin'. Lord knows how long we got to go 'til Texas, and there really ain't no tellin' that we'll find transportation." He sounded better than he had yesterday, more confident.

Ellis felt as though they were back in time once more, all four of them standing in a circle and discussing what route to take, distributing supplies and then talking of what the plan was. He felt as though Coach were in his element, drawing out their plays on the board with a used piece of chalk with little circles and Xs and arrows. Telling them the game plan, what he expected of them, and how their adversaries were playing the game; instead of an enemy team though there zombies, instead of a football maybe a grenade launcher would suffice, and instead of football players they were survivors.

"I have…" Nick paused and his eyebrows came together, and for a few seconds he said nothing more. But then his eyes flicked up to Coach and Ellis. "I have no objections. I think we should go." No lingering on the 'go', no more hesitance, and he couldn't have sounded surer.

Ellis would have thought it bravery, except Nick sounded more like he was giving up, not being chivalrous and valiant.

Coach nodded once. "How 'bout it, Ellis, you ready?"

He felt put on the spot. His blue eyes cast downward and they lingered on his bare feet and his baggy overalls that were slightly rolled up at his ankles. Every dirt speck and stain on his feet seemed suddenly interesting, like he hadn't seen his feet in ages. In zombie apocalypse you really don't pay attention to yourself too much, he figured. Ellis swallowed and he looked up at them, his friends. "Yeah, I'm ready as I'll ever be."

The three then got very busy suddenly, or at least Nick and Coach did. There wasn't much Ellis could do. At the end of gathering supplies they found themselves with the shotgun Nick found, Coach's own pistol, and a crowbar they'd found for Ellis. Ellis took the metal in his hands and tightened his fingers around it. He took a weak, experimental swing and a sigh shook him. He felt kind of uncertain with that crowbar in his hands, uncertain about how he would go about smashing it into an infected person. Maybe take a swing at their flank just to immobilize them, smash it angrily into their chest, or bash in their head into an unrecognizable pulp. The thought startled him and he shakily put the crowbar to the side as Coach shoveled survival needs into a pack he had found. The things that entered the bag consisted of things like bandages and wraps, plenty of pills and some ointments, some snack foods and a few water bottles and other miscellaneous things that could be useful.

Finally, they all met at the safe room's door. Ellis found he could limp around without the metal splint, even if it was a very slow and careful gimp it was better than not being able to move at all.

Coach smiled at them and put each of his hands on their shoulders. "We can do it, ya'll. Any doubts you may have please leave 'em at the door." He said, making the other two men chortle and grin, if ever so slightly. Then he unbarred the door.

Ellis looked out past the bars of the red door to see a zombie that had been startled by the clanking noise Coach had made. It cocked its head at a jarring angle, black stuff dripping out from its mouth and staining its chin. It seemed to have a moment of recognition and then it charged at them with a hoarse, animalistic cry. It slammed into the door with a loud cracking sound and began to screech more prominently. Its arm shot through the cars, grasping and groping at the air blindly, teeth and face pressed into the metal bars like a rabid dog after a piece of meat it cannot reach. Ellis jumped as the pistol fired, the zombie's arm shuddering and the screams dying as it went slack against the door.

The three men looked to each other and they seemed to know what each other were thinking. But no words were spoken so Coach unlatched the door and pushed it open, the Infected he had just killed hitting the ground with a series of cracks and a final thud. And the three men stood there, looking out onto the streets of New Orleans and a new realization coming to them all. This was it; a new journey was to begin. Perhaps an even longer one than the last, and with one less member of their team and two badly injured they would need to work extra hard, need to keep eyes for each other thoroughly and need to watch their backs.

Ellis' grip on the crowbar was fierce and his knuckles were turning white. Once upon a time he thought he would die a peaceful death as an old man. Now he expected his funeral to be attended by the chorus of howling Infected and his casket to be the ground, the ground spattered with his innards and his blood. He shivered slightly even though the air was pleasant out. But now he pushed those thoughts of death away along with all the other shit beginning to consume his mind. He needed to focus on getting the hell of out of Louisiana with Coach and Nick along for the ride.

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**A/N: Nyahh, it's alright. I appreciate any reviews ya'll may leave me. Thank you for reading. 3**


	4. Carriers

**Ohey, kids. I know it's been FOREVER since I've been around. But hell, better late than never, and I'm a master procrastinator. Dead serious. If procrastinating was an art, I would be a damn Leonardo Fuckin' Da Vinci.**

**Onto the story~  
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The bad thing about not being from the South for Nick was that he really didn't know his way around. At least where he was from even a state away was somewhat easy to navigate for him. But something about shitty Louisiana was getting him frustrated. Mostly Coach led the way through the empty streets, telling the other two New Orleans had been a vacation spot for him a few times. Nick and Coach both took turns near-carrying Ellis, why that Southern hardhead didn't want them to attach the damn splint was beyond him, but the drug store was a good ten miles behind them now, and so far they hadn't found any place else that looked hopeful in supplies. There weren't too many infected out and about until a small horde found them, which was quickly dispatched by Nick's pistol and Coach's shotgun handling, and Nick only gave up with the shotgun because he couldn't very well use it without both hands.

It was when the buildings were beginning to give way to houses that Ellis had been switched over to Nick for more supporting that he spoke, "I know this ain't really the time, but ya'll remember what the pilot said to us on the other side of the bridge? Well, I been thinkin'… He asked that other army guy if he was 'equipped for _carriers'._ What in the hell's a 'carrier'?"

Nick looked at him strangely; he really had been more focused on getting the guy on the other end of the radio to shut the fuck up and just lower the bridge besides asking stupid questions. But the term sounded familiar like he'd seen it somewhere or read it somewhere- bingo. "I've seen it written sometimes on safe room walls, I think."

Coach shook his head. "'Kill all carriers' is what I remember." He looked like he was concentrating on the road ahead of them.

"Oh, right! I remember that too. Now, why would they call us carriers? I mean, they asked if we was immune too… I didn't know how to answer that none though. How are we supposed to know anyway?" Ellis asked, and he seemed a little pouty.

"Well, this is a virus. Someone's immune then they ain't gonna get it, if they ain't immune, then they would get it…" Coach drifted off a bit, thinking some more. "If a parent's got a disease sometimes they don't even show it, but it shows up in their kids. And sometimes people say that the parent _carries_ the disease, but they just don't show no symptoms. Maybe it's like that, maybe some people carry the virus and they's basically like the zombies, 'cept they ain't aimin' to kill nobody, and they look like regular folks."

Ellis laughed, albeit in amazement. "Wow, Coach."

The big man grinned. "Just thinkin' out loud, boy."

Nick nodded a few times. "Uh-huh, so basically if the military guys thought we were carriers, then what? 'Kill all carriers', right? Carriers are basically zombies then, and the military would have blown our heads off." He scoffed. "That chick, black guy and greaseball biker weren't joking. How perfect, the military can go to hell." The conman's voice practically dripped with liquid spite.

"Hold on now, Nick, we may just be immune to it. That's why we haven't gotten turned into infected folks." Coach tried to reason more optimistically.

But Nick was never the optimist of the group. "Or we could be spreading it around like diseased lepers." He couldn't believe there was a possibility that they had the virus inside of him. It was behind enough they had been running through fucking sewers and getting covered in Boomer vomit, but now they could be infected? "Goddamn zombie-fucking-apocalypse." He muttered resentfully, adjusting his grip on Ellis, who staggered in pain in response. Nick was ashamed he felt a lightning strike of impatience and annoyance sear through him at the young man's predicament. "Are you okay?" He asked.

Ellis' crowbar suddenly clattered to the ground. "I gotta sit, I gotta sit." His voice cracked loudly and suddenly and turned into a groan of pain. "Nick!" He cried as the man sat him down as carefully as he could, but apparently not carefully enough.

"Shit, Ellis, I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, unable to think clearly.

Coach nudged him aside and pulled the pack around from his back, zipping it open. A bouquet of supplies bloomed before him, and he had to shove some snacks aside to pull out a bottle of aspirin. "I guess we gonna ignore the recommended dosage." He mumbled in bitter amusement, and spilled out five little white pills, folding them in Ellis' palm. "You need water too."

But Ellis was already shoving the medicine into his mouth, and he swallowed them down hard, gritting his teeth. "Oh my God." His accent was a little thicker when it took on a pained tone. "Please work, please, please, please." He gripped his leg and moaned, rocking slightly.

Nick felt sick watching him, and he could barely do that much. His elbow in that sling seemed minor compared to the pain Ellis was feeling. As Coach stepped back a little, he approached him, gesturing with his good arm exasperatedly. "We can't stay here." He hissed, even though the thought of making Ellis continue on was in the back of his mind.

Coach looked at the youngest sadly. "He needs to sit there 'til those pain pills make 'im feel better, Nick."

There was a resounding groan from Ellis. "Don't ya'll be talking about me like I ain't here." And as the two turned, Ellis was staring back at them, the hurt apparent in his eyes that were softened with oncoming tears. "I can keep goin', really." He told them and picked up the discarded crowbar. "I'll be fine, c'mon, I'm ready, I'm good, I-I…" His voice strained into a grunt when he started to get up.

Nick rushed over to him and supported him with his good arm. "Ellis, stop, you can't continue on like this. You're a fucking mess, just rest for a second."

"We don't got a second, Nick! I don't got a second! If we don't keep… keep moving, then we're-" He panted, giving up on trying getting up and going limp against the conman. "We'll die." Ellis voice broke in a whisper, and Nick felt a pain in his chest at the utter despair he saw come fresh in the kid's body, in those blue eyes, in his voice.

Nick tore his gaze away from that sight and looked up at Coach. "He's right, we've gotta move." He regretted those words just as much as he himself needed to hear them.

"Alright, but he ain't gonna be able to walk." Coach said and slung the pack over to Nick. "But I'll carry him." No one seemed to object to that.

It took quite a bit of false tries and maneuvering, but finally Ellis was perched somewhat comfortably on Coach's back, piggyback style. Ellis was holding onto that shotgun and even the crowbar. He looked tired, like that whole ordeal had sucked his energy dry, but his eyes stayed wide, and Nick sadly realized that the kid probably never wanted to close them in the situation they were in. Coach was supporting Ellis' thighs with his elbows, and the group was entirely thankful that they could move a bit faster without Ellis' limp slowing them down. It probably would have been easier to leave Ellis there in the street, leave him there for death to come on him with the force of all those flesh-hungry zombies. Nick shuddered at the very thought, clenching his eyes shut for a few seconds as if to squeeze the images pouring into his mind out. They weren't going to leave Ellis, ever. No one was getting left behind.

After getting lost in a neighborhood for some time during high afternoon, they finally got back on track and in a few hours the road was slowly giving way into the desolate gray river of highway. They would need to find a gas station to hold up in before they set out on that long road. It would have been amazing if they had found a gun store in New Orleans like the one they had found in Savannah, but unfortunately no one knew about any nor did they see one. Finally, they found a smaller gas station that wouldn't be as hard to defend themselves in. Walking inside after a careful inspection by Coach, the three hobbled in gratefully to no zombie company. Like the drug store before, the gas station was mostly cleared out with a few items here and there. Ellis found a neat switchblade left behind where he guessed a whole bunch more had been next to it and tucked it in his pocket. Coach was automatically refilling their stock of supplies from what little they found.

Sunset came quickly, and they all were a little surprised, but then of course their judgment of time was probably long thrown off anyway. Since the gas station was no safe house, they decided that the bathrooms would be their safest bet. Just stay there until daylight and stay quiet; that was all they had to do, which seemed simple enough. Before they distributed sleeping arrangements, they all sat together and had - at best - morsels. Coach was content with a snag of beef jerky and some BBQ chips. Ellis devoured a couple snack cakes and a bag of chips, and Nick stole a half of Ellis' last snack cake and some pretzels. They even managed to find soda cans in the back.

"Now, it would be crowded if I came in there with ya'll in that restroom. So I'm gonna be in the one over, alright? Holler if you need me, and be sure to lock the door behind ya." Coach said before going into the ladies' room, and Nick and Ellis squeezed into the men's room afterward.

Ellis thumped against the wall next to the toilet, Nick sighing as he turned the lock and jiggled the handle to make sure it would stay that way. He turned and immediately caught his own eyes in the mirror. He looked terrible. His hair was disarranged severely, his face dirty, circles under his eyes, his collar haphazardly crinkled and his dress shirt unbuttoned near the top. It would do him good to wash that muddled face of his, and so he did. Ellis stayed quiet the whole time, and after Nick was done smoothing his hair back into place and drying off the water from his skin he realized the kid had fallen sound asleep. He took a wet another paper towel and kneeled beside Ellis. He hesitated at first, watching Ellis sleep. He'd done it last night too, or tried rather because it was darker in that safe room.

But with the light on, Ellis looked like a mess even in sleep. He looked pale, face sticky with grime and sweat. Finally though he smeared the damp paper towel gently over Ellis' forehead, then down the bridge of his nose, across his cheeks and then over his jaw line, and afterwards Nick dabbed the wetness away with the drier end of the towel. There, now he didn't look so bad. And at that moment the kid stirred a little with sleepy, disgruntled noises. He said something more clearly, but it was too quiet and muffled for Nick to hear, so the conman put his ear closer to the Southerner's face.

"Nick." His voice was hard to make out, but it sounded like Nick's name. "Why're ya in my face?" This came out more pronounced, and sounded like no sleep talking Nick had ever heard.

The conman backed up to see Ellis looking at him. "I cleaned you up, I mean, your face." There was no biting sarcasm in his voice; it came out flat and even.

Ellis rubbed his chin and cheeks in turn. "Well, thank ya. I guess we ain't thought about showerin' for quite a while. Hell, we probably got used to each other's stink too."

Nick grimaced, not wanting to think about how bad he stank or how long it had really been since he'd bathed. "Yeah, well, at least there's not so much goddamn dirt clogging up your pores now, huh?" He meant it as a joke, but he couldn't really make his voice sound all that convincing because Ellis didn't even grin. "But, more importantly, I think we're supposed to be quiet and turn out the light." He knew Ellis didn't like that by the little panic that flickered in his eyes. "The door's locked, Ellis." He couldn't help that slight impatience that wiggled out.

"Ah, Nick, I know, but-"

"Kid, c'mon, you gotta trust me." And Nick felt déjà vu accompany those words. He remembered back at the hotel with everything around them burning. They were barely acquaintances when Ellis slipped on the ledge and would have taken a serious tumble all the way down four stories were it not have been for Nick being right there, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and his arm and trying to haul him up, but Ellis kept struggling against him more than anything, legs dangling helplessly. "Kid, fucking cooperate with me here. Trust me, I'll pull you up, but you gotta stop fucking around." Then they had locked eyes, and Ellis relaxed and stopped flailing to help out with Nick saving him. Now, look where they were.

Ellis seemed to scoot closer to the wall. "Okay." He answered softly and closed his eyes.

Nick frowned, reached for the light switch, his finger resting on that small jut of plastic. For the love of anything they could have possibly been holding dear to them now, he did not want to shut off the light. If it comforted Ellis, he wanted to keep that little beacon of hope lit for him. They lost Rochelle, Ellis' leg was broken, and they were practically without supplies and weaponry. Any sliver of goddamn hope he could fit into that tiny room would be enough to get Ellis to not be so afraid. But he couldn't do that; that light shedding through the crack beneath the door might attract infected; it was too risky. The small click of the light switch was deafening in that small space.

The conman slumped beside Ellis quietly, and it was a little unsettling how it was so dark in that restroom. But despite the fear of the infected outside, Nick felt very tired. His eyelids drooped immediately, and he yawned. He felt for the pistol in his slacks' pocket for good measure, and once he'd done that he was going to settle the back of his head against the wall and-

"Nick, we ain't really carriers, right?" Came Ellis' whisper.

Nick looked at him even though he really couldn't see him, barely making out the shiny whites of his eyes. "I sure hope not, Ellis. Because that means…" He blinked in the darkness; he really didn't know what the military did to them. But… of course they would kill them. They were practically zombies. They would line them against the fucking wall and shoot them dead. That's how it worked. No survivors. Hell, they probably shot all the immunes too, for the hell of it, for the hell of being the military.

"That means we ain't goin' to no army for help." Ellis said.

Nick heard him shift around and then a sharp intake of air rang in his ear accompanied with a hiss. "You alright?"

"Goddamn, I hurt." Ellis leaned heavily against the older man for support. "Coach give ya any of them painkillers?"

Nick frowned. "No. Try not to think about it, Ellis."

Ellis groaned in response. "Tell me a story, Nick."

"What?" Nick looked at his companion in confusion.

"To distract me, please."

So, Nick pulled out a story from his nonexistent hat and began to speak. It was one that he hadn't told anyone else, and one he hoped would completely take Ellis' mind off that broken leg. After what seemed like an hour of storytelling, Ellis was finally asleep, and it took another fifteen minutes for Nick to notice. Ellis' cheek was rested on his shoulder, his hands limp at his sides. So, not wanting to move the injured Southerner he just put his own cheek on top of Ellis' dirty hair. Sleep took him almost immediately, enveloping him in nightmares that would leave him even more tired in the morning.

Nick all but gently woke, jumping in place with his eyes flying open. The tremor woke Ellis too, who seemed to have slept more peacefully, on the other hand. He looked around at his surroundings, a small sliver of light leaking in from the closed door making the room slightly brighter, and he wondered what time it could be. "Fuck." He cursed, rubbing his eyes with his tattered sleeve. Beside him, Ellis gave a big yawn, stretching out his one good leg. The sensation hit Nick just as the words left his mouth, "I gotta piss. You mind?" Ellis shook his head. Nick did happen to mind, but it would be more trouble to move him. Nick stood up and walked in front of the toilet and unzipped his slacks, pushing his boxers down with his one hand enough to get his dick out, but not enough to reveal too much skin to Ellis, if he were even watching.

Once he was done he shook himself and grabbed the nearby toilet paper to dab himself dry. Tucking his manhood back in his pants, he turned mid-zipping and buttoning his trousers. Ellis was staring up at him, his thighs brought together tightly. Nick sighed in realization. "Really, Ellis?"

"Well, shit, I heard you pissin' an' now I gotta go." Ellis whined.

Nick's first response was something like, "Why don't you get up and do it then?" but then he stopped himself and felt bad for thinking that. So instead he said, "I guess you need help then." Without waiting for Ellis' reply he stepped over to the Southerner and grabbed him by the arm, who then in turn gripped the back of his shirt. Nick more or less took all of Ellis' weight as he got up and led him to the toilet. Ellis took the hand that wasn't holding onto Nick and undid the knot on his overalls, pushing them down along with his underwear hurriedly. As Ellis got his manhood out, Nick immediately looked away. It was enough he was helping him, but he was not going to look at another guy's prick. Well, this was better than having Ellis piss himself, at least. When Ellis had finally tucked himself back in his drawers, Nick helped redo the knot in the overalls, and they both washed their hands in the sink.

"Think Coach is awake?" Ellis asked, leaned against the wall.

"Who knows. Hang on," Nick got on the floor, pressed his face into the cold linoleum and looked through that small crack in the door. He couldn't see shit, but that was probably a good thing, maybe a bad thing. He got up. "Only one way to find out." He said, and his hand undid the lock on the door, fingers folding around the knob. For a split moment he looked back at Ellis, who nodded back at him in reassurance. Not that Nick really needed that anyway, and he was barely sure why he'd looked back like that. Holding his breath, he turned the knob until it had no more give and then slowly began to open the door. It groaned suddenly, causing Nick to flinch and stop his movements completely. He glanced back again at Ellis, whose eyes had gone wide. Then he returned his gaze back to the crack he'd made in the door.

Except, there was something blocking out the light from the crack, a whole person, in fact. And Nick froze up completely. It was only a common infected, but he didn't want to move or say anything, because it was just fucking standing there, staring at them with those empty, glowing eyes. For some reason, Nick didn't know what to do at that point. That is, of course, until it lunged for him with an angry scream. His heart sped up into full throttle, and he caught one of the creature's arms with his good one and tried to heave the thing backwards to no avail. With a loud blast, blood splattered onto him and the infected was sent to the ground in a spiraling mess of screeches and squelching noises. Another shot was fired, and the zombie finally stilled. Nick looked to his left to see Coach standing there, the shotgun smoking at the end.

The large man wiped his bandaged forehead. "Things don't know when to give up." He rested the shotgun against a shelf and sighed. "I looked around the store and looked outside some too, but I ain't seen nothin' 'til this one went and snuck past me." Coach stepped forward. "Lemme check out Ellis' leg." He pushed the still recoiling Nick aside softly and approached Ellis.

While the two were busy with that, Nick stepped over the dead infected and grabbed the shotgun for good measure. He began walking up and down the aisles a little aimlessly. At the last aisle he had found another bottle of pills, a pack of gum, cookies and when he went behind the register he even found a goddamn pack of cigarettes. Nick couldn't help kissing the front of the pack and grinning. He was dying for a smoke. After scouring the whole place for a lighter he finally found one, and shucked out a cancer stick, shoved the rest in his pocket alongside the pistol and then took the lighter and watched with eager eyes as the end glowed to life.

He took maybe the longest drag off that thing he'd ever taken off a cigarette in his entire life. He exhaled thankfully, blowing the smoke towards the roof and watching it spread and disperse into the air. He couldn't help but laugh; all this time they had been fucking going from Georgia to Louisiana he'd never searched for cigarettes, but in a way he supposed that was kind of good thing since the damn zombies were bad enough. Then again, why not have a fucking cigarette because who knew when he would die? Standing there, smoking the shit out of that cig, he remembered several times where he would've have died been it not for his companions: Ellis, Coach, Rochelle. Nick frowned when he thought of her though, and he wished he hadn't.

Once he finished smoking, Nick flicked the cigarette from his fingers and snuffed it with the sole of his shoe. And, after adjusting his arm in the semi-comfy sling, he stuffed what he found in his pockets and slung the shotgun over his shoulder, his stride a little more back to normal than the past couple days. He didn't want to think about what could happen in the next half hour when they would leave, making their long journey down the seemingly endless highway. All he knew was that he would be content to make the trip with the remainder of his team. After all, they were the two people he trusted most out of his thus far lifetime and that was saying quite a bit for Nick.

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**A/N: And that's it for now! My apologies that this one is basically freaking pointless, but I got the urge to write it and took the opportunity in stride! Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Deadweight

**Okay, so, really quick chapter update. Eeeeeh, it's okay, shorter than the last, but the quality is always the same. 3 Enjoy!**

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High afternoon must have been and the three survivors were still in the convenient store. Nick and Coach were talking, strategizing over by a broken out window. Ellis watched them both take turns pointing out to that barren expanse of concrete river, talking some more, making according arm and hand gestures. They'd been talking for a while now, at least half an hour, Ellis guessed. He was a little put off that they weren't including him in this discussion, but he sadly reminded himself that he was probably the topic of discussion. He pretended he could hear things like, "never make it", "leave him here", "only slowing us down". But he was sick right now, sick and tired of running from those zombie fuckers. And in a right state of mind, he would have guessed those two were trying everything they could to find a plan to have all three leave. And even though that's what they were doing, Ellis' mind kept reverting back to the former.

Fresh hurt bloomed in his chest. The last thing he wanted to be to Nick and Coach was a goddamn burden. Because no matter how anyone put it at that point, that's exactly what he was: deadweight. It would do them better to use him as a distraction for a Tank; lugging his carcass around was like carrying raw meat around a pack of ravenous wolves or coyotes or something. Maybe he would recommend the Tank thing when the opportunity presented itself. And Ellis frowned at his thoughts, mostly because even if he sacrificed himself for the others the Tank might just catch up to them and kill them.

Ellis didn't want to think about them dying. But how could he not? He'd seen Rochelle dead, rather what was left of her in the mess of debris from the helicopter. And there were countless times before that where he'd seen any one of his companions get clawed by a Hunter, choked by a Smoker, pummeled by a Charger, faced a horde of zombies no thanks to a Boomer. He felt as though his very sanity was hanging by a thread, and it only took one Witch claw more to sever it. But maybe he was just trying to get over everything that had just happened, and he kept telling himself that he would feel better. Oh yeah, he'd feel better eventually when his fucking leg wasn't broken, when Nick was back to his old self, when Coach could bring Rochelle back from the dead and hold the group together like he always seemed to. And again, when was all this going to happen?

Never.

Things were never going to be okay.

He was too sucked into his own head to notice Nick had walked over and sat beside him. Ellis looked up and jumped a little but proceeded to relax when he realized who it was. "Hey, Nick. What's the verdict?" He tried to not let on what he was thinking or feeling, but the way Nick's eyes seemed to study him, pick him apart and lay him out on a fucking table, made him nervous. Ellis wondered if that's how his eyes always had been; only Ellis had never paid real close attention to them. Nick was a conman, a deceiver. For knowing the man for at least three months he knew nothing about this guy, really.

"We're gonna leave soon." He put his head back on the wall they were both sitting against. "You hungry or anything?"

"Nah. I'll be good." Ellis replied, staring ahead. "If I ask ya anything, will ya answer it?"

Nick seemed to ponder the possibility by tilting his head. "Why the hell not?"

Ellis nodded, thinking of a question. "Ever kil't a man?"

"Before or after the zombies?"

"Before."

Nick stroked his jaw with his good hand, humming thoughtfully.

Ellis lifted a brow incredulously, pouting. "Oh, c'mon, Nick, you ain't never kil't nothin' 'til all this shit happened. Never harmed a fly, have ya? Ya really shouldn't hafta think about it just to look cool."

The older snorted. "Caught me. What about you, ever _kil't _a man?" The tiniest twitch of a smirk was present at the corner of his lips.

Ellis rolled his eyes. "Maybe one or two. Didn't mean no harm by what I done, they were more in the way of my truck, an' I just sorta hit 'em and then drove away." He rubbed his nose and sniffed, awaiting Nick's reaction with a blank expression.

Nick's eyes widened if ever so slightly. "Jesus Christ, Ellis."

Ellis looked like he was going to start arguing, but then he couldn't contain himself anymore and let out an obnoxious laugh. "You believe everythin' you hear, Nick?" His blue eyes glinted with mischief.

"You little snot." Nick sneered and bumped his shoulder to Ellis'. "Didn't your _mama_ ever tell you not to try and fuck with a con artist? It'll come back and bite you in the ass."

"Nick, you been fuckin' with me ever since you met me. Givin' me shit all the time; I think I owe ya somethin' similar." Ellis was proud of himself… up until there was a grin that spread thinly over Nick's lips. "What in the hell's funny?"

"I've been fucking with you… So now you owe me something 'similar'?"

Ellis blinked, not quite getting it. Yeah, that's it. Why was he repeating it? Then it clicked. Joking the jokester, Nick was. Of course, maybe Ellis should've known better and not set himself up like that. But, really, he knew he wouldn't have had a chance in hell because Nick had been playing that game longer than Ellis had for sure. He felt his face flush slightly, ears growing warm. "I ain't no queer, Nick. Sorry to disappoint ya." Score. That was sure to catch him off guard. But of course, Ellis' face wasn't anywhere near convincing with the red tint it had taken on.

Nick, noticing his blush, laughed. "Sure. That's why your cheeks are turning red, faggot. Bet sleeping in the bathroom with me was tough, huh, kid? Close enough to reach out and touch, kinda like now." He pointedly pressed into Ellis with his side, grinning.

"Shut up, man." Ellis crossed his arms across his chest, but not before nudging Nick roughly with his elbow. "You're the only one who's bein' a faggot right now."

"Maybe I'm testing your self-control, gay hayseed."

"Nick, that's stupid. Hayseeds can't even be gay." Ellis said and narrowed his eyes at the conman. "You're bein' gay for even continuin' the joke."

"Take's one to know one." Nick's grin wouldn't go away, a minor chuckle escaping him.

"That's even stupider! An' you just admitted to bein' gay anyway."

"So did you."

Ellis groaned. "I ain't gonna win, am I?"

"No chance in hell, kid." His smile died down, and he was sifting through pocket for something.

A thought occurred to Ellis. "Well, if yer gay, who ya interested in?"

Nick had pulled out his lighter and cigarette carton and was going through the ritual of pulling one out and lighting it. Mid-lighting, his eyes darted at Ellis. Waiting until he could take a drag off the cigarette and exhale, he finally said, "Well, it isn't Coach."

"Me, then?" Ellis asked.

"Bingo." Nick replied, the cigarette bouncing when he talked.

Ellis watched the smoke rise for a few moments, blinking a lot. "Uh, are you still just screwin' with me?"

"Not yet."

"Nick! C'mon, Christ, didn't anyone ever tell you there's such a thing as taking a joke too far?" Ellis felt a foreign flustered sensation come over him.

Nick laughed. "Relax, Ellis, it was a fucking _joke_. Don't be so tight about it, kid."

Ellis huffed. "I ain't bein' tight." And Nick immediately laughed, so the Southerner shot a glare at him, then realized in despair what he set himself up in.

"I beg to differ, Overalls. Since you're a virgin, I would guess you're-"

"Now wait, who said I was a virgin, Nick? You can't be assumin' that."

Nick gave him a deadpan stare. "You can't seriously be telling me that _you_ have had _sex_."

"So what if I did? Then yer assumption'd be all wrong. 'Cause there was this time…" He trailed off, Nick's eyes still on him, looking unconvinced. Ellis took a breath. "Okay, yeah, I never took a roll in the sheets."

"Yeah, Ellis, you can't bullshit a bullshitter." Nick said in a matter-of-fact way.

"Well, maybe I'm waitin' fer someone special. Y'know, I mean, that's what Ma always said to do. 'Course that was before all this zombie apocalypse shit happened. Ain't too many fish in the sea now." Ellis felt like he was starting to ramble, which meant he was feeling a little better. He looked at Nick and smiled. "Hey, thanks."

"Thanks? For what?" Nick's cigarette was poised comically in his mouth with a confused expression on his face.

"Cheerin' me up and all."

"Don't mention it." He pinched the cigarette with his finger and sucked on it greedily, blowing the smoke out from his nose with a long sigh.

Ellis took the moment where Nick had the cig in his fingers to snatch it, and he heard a startled protest from Nick, but he ignored it and flicked it away from them and into a corner. He didn't even look mildly phased after doing so.

Nick's mouth worked, finding words to express his disbelief. "What the fuck?" He snapped, albeit not looking too intimidating with one of his arms in a sling.

"Smoking'll kill ya 'fore the zombies ever do, Nick."

Nick laughed cruelly and snorted. "Yeah, that's why Roch-" He stopped himself dead in his tracks mid-sentence.

Ellis stared at him in astonishment. "Why would… you say somethin' like that?" He didn't understand after all the time they'd spent almost dying together that this man could still act like… like an asshole. Even with Rochelle dead he was about to make a joke about it. Ellis wished he could get up.

Nick's expression hardened. "I didn't say it, did I? I stopped, okay?"

"That don't mean I don't know what you was gonna say, Nick." Ellis was shaking his head.

"Christ, Ellis, give me a fucking break." He took his pack of cigarettes and chucked them into Ellis' chest, who fumbled the pack in return.

Ellis looked at the pack and back to Nick, and his lips drew up in a snarl. As Nick was turned around he pitched at the back of the conman's head as hard as he could. "Fuck you, Nick! Fuck you! You ain't got no right to be more angry than the rest of us. You always treated us like shit anyway, maybe we shoulda left your fancy suit-ass back on the roof of that burnin' building!" The outrage in his system was driving him crazy, being all he could do was _sit there _and yell. "If I could get up-"

Nick whirled around, shoulders squared and stiff. "You want me to leave right now, dumbshit? Because I will; I'll leave you and Coach with not so much as a glance. Say the word, Ellis, _say it_!"

Ellis bent his good leg and braced his arms on the wall behind him, using every bit of strength to fling himself from it. His leg screamed in protest, but it worked. He was standing, wobbling a little, his head spinning from the lightning strike of pain that shot through his leg. He felt satisfied by Nick's shocked expression, taking one limping step forward and swinging a fisted hand at Nick. He caught the punch though, and Ellis cried out in frustration, trying to throw another with his other arm, but Nick shied easily from it. Ellis tripped forward, losing all strength he had still holding him up.

Nick caught him, arm wrapped around Ellis' shoulder blades and hooking beneath his arm. He unsteadily kneeled, letting Ellis' legs stretch out until they were seated once more. But this time Ellis' head was propped up on Nick's chest, which was rising and falling exaggeratedly thanks to the adrenaline rush from being swung at. Ellis' hand found Nick's thigh and he fisted up the fabric there, teeth gnashing together as he desperately fought the excruciating pain in his leg with his mind, practically willing for it to subside. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He saw Nick's hand snake from around him and hold his leg comfortingly, though the placement of it seemed a little weird with an uncertainty to it. And Ellis suddenly felt like crying. "Oh God, Nick, help me…" He begged, tightening his grip on Nick's pants until his knuckles grew white from the tension.

Heavy footsteps ran towards them, and Coach appeared from behind an aisle. "What in the hell's goin' on? I step out for ten minutes and hear a commotion, and…" He trailed off, puffing like he was out of breath. "And so I came runnin'."

"Trouble in paradise." Nick said sarcastically, adjusting his and Ellis' positions. "I saw a shot in the bag; get it, now."

"Nick, I don't think we should be usin' that right now. We may need it later." Coach warned.

"Look at this kid and tell me we don't need it." He growled.

Ellis watched Coach leave and come back with their infamous bag of supplies, unzipping and rummaging through hurriedly. He retrieved the shot. "Man," Ellis breathed, "I hate them things." Coach simply scooted forward on one knee, uncapping the adrenaline shot, looking at the young mechanic for permission to continue. "Go." Ellis said quickly and the sharp point dove into his thigh, right through his overalls. He hissed in response, jerking a little in Nick's grip. Then he felt the rush, warmth spread over his leg and pulsed through his system all the sudden like how a hot cup of coffee felt running down your throat. His eyes went wide, and he stared down at the triangle of space between his legs. Adrenaline shots felt weird when you couldn't run them off, Ellis thought. A good three minutes, the trio of survivors were silent. Ellis was feeling jittery, but at least the pain had mildly subsided. When Coach affirmed that Nick had control of the situation, he went back to whatever he had been doing before, leaving them with the sack o' goodies.

Ellis wanted to move away from Nick, but the man was giving him support in his weak state, so he kept his lips shut in a slight frown, letting Nick hold him while he recuperated from the whole ordeal. At first, he was beyond pissed, but now he was beginning to realize that they had all gone through some traumatic shit ever since they met. What had happened before then to the other three, Ellis had no knowledge of so he wasn't at liberty to assume their mental or physical state when they all met at the hotel. Maybe acting like he acted was Nick's way of dealing with shit or rather not dealing with shit at all. Ellis would rather cry than keep all that bad stuff in, and he wondered just how much Nick kept locked away in that head of his. He craned his neck as subtly as possible, rolling his eyes to look up at the conman.

Nick immediately caught his gaze and made a questioning grunt, though his mouth was turned in a scowl.

Ellis cleared his throat. "Ya really mean all that shit you said?" He wondered if Nick was still stung about getting a pack of cigarettes chucked at the back of his head. Of course, he had been the one to throw them first anyways; he earned whatever small bruise he might have gained from it.

"You should know the answer to that." Nick replied evenly.

"Yeah." Ellis agreed, looking straight forward again. "What about the faggot stuff, did'ja mean that?"

He heard Nick sigh next to his ear. "Ellis, do I look like a homosexual to you?"

"Well, no, but I can hardly tell when yer jokin'. Thought you migh' be comin' out of the closet to someone you trusted." Ellis shrugged.

A dry laugh. "Sorry, kiddo, but I like tits too much for that."

The hick rolled his neck awkwardly against Nick, popping it. "Woulda been nice though." He seemed to relax against Nick more, muscles previously being tense from their earlier fight.

"What? Me being a faggot?"

"Naw, that you was gonna tell me somethin' real personal like that. 'Dunno, kinda felt like I done somethin' right along the way of knowin' ya." Ellis explained. "I wouldn't'a gave two shits if you was queer, Nick. I'd still like ya all the same."

Nick seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Uh, well… I'm not, so, yeah. Besides, you don't need to know anything about me. You already know all you need to know, Ellis."

For whatever reason, Ellis felt a twinge of annoyance come to him, turning in Nick's grip and looking him in the eye. "Don't give me that bullshit, Nick. Someone's gotta know."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Nick copied the annoyed tone, eyes growing sharp as he prepared to go into defense mode.

"It _means_ that, hell, when you ever gonna get a chance to tell someone again? This is the zombie apocalypse, man, and ya might as well get all the talkin' outta your system. I know yer dyin' to tell me somethin', I can tell. 'Sides, what harm can it do? Ain't like I can abandon ya if I found out 'bout your 'nasty past' or whatever. Shoot, I may chat ya'll's ears off, but it's 'cause no one else'll talk. An' I think the talkin' keeps us a lil' more sane anyway."

Nick blinked at him once, twice. "I… guess." Was all he said, looking absently in a random direction.

"Also, ain't never gonna hurt to just kiss me, Nick. It's real obvious." Ellis said all-too-casually.

Nick started a little, caught off-guard and the tiniest flush met the surface of his face. "What?"

And then Ellis grinned. "Who says I can't have some fun with that one too? Yer funny when you get flushed like that."

Nick glared at him. "I hate you, Ellis."

"Well, I still like you, Nick." Still smiling too.

* * *

**A/N: Where am I going with this? Lmao, I really don't know. But at least the damn thing is still alive.**


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